


A Quiet Refuge

by shell_and_bone



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Bathing/Washing, Caregiving, Gen, Hand Feeding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nostalgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:36:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4347113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shell_and_bone/pseuds/shell_and_bone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a tumultuous episode, Russia finds himself welcomed into China's home again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quiet Refuge

**Author's Note:**

> This little fic is an older one I originally wrote for the Hetalia Kink Meme. The prompt had to do with Russia being mothered and cared for. I'm a sap for hurt/comfort stories, and this remains one of the few fics I wrote during that period that I'm still fond of.

Russia returned to consciousness to the slow creep of a vile-tasting liquid making its way down his throat.

He coughed and sputtered, tried to sit up, but his body disobeyed and remained against the bed as if weighed down by something heavy and unyielding.

He must have succeeded in raising his arm, at least, as he felt a swathe of cool hair against his fingertips. It was as though his eyes were coated in a glaze, much too sensitive to the sunlight flooding in through the red curtains.

Despite the foul taste, a gentle pressure of someone’s hand across his chest calmed his panic, and soothed him until sleep’s embrace took its place.

The next time Russia’s eyes opened, they were met by another pair. Immediately familiar, he mouthed a name silently, his voice as weak as his vision.

“That’s right.”

China’s lips were curled in a smile, but Russia could see concern lingering behind his gaze.

“Why are you here, China?” Russia asked, his words barely whispers. By this point, he was sure this was a dream. China had not set foot within his borders for a very long time.

“I’m afraid you’re confused. You’re here, with me,” the other man corrected. He stood up from what seemed to be a bed by the look of things, located in one of China’s many guest rooms.

“You were very sick when I found you. Do you remember anything at all?”

Russia thought back, eyes widening suddenly when the recollection hit. Trudging through the endless snow towards a grey horizon, the frigid winds chilling him until he could feel no more. He'd cried into the empty sky, head tilted to meet the frosty air, with one hand extended towards some apparition, the other grasping the neck of a near-empty bottle. It all came back then. His home had felt so dreadfully empty and the snowdrifts called to him.

He shook his head back and forth, face buried in his hands. But before he could utter a sound, China shoved a bowl of awful-smelling mush towards him. “You need to drink some,” he stated plainly, and when Russia visibly recoiled, “it’s medicine. It’s what I made you drink all the while you’ve been asleep.”

"How long has it been?” he asked, eyes drawn to the bowl’s contents in disgust.

China pursed his lips. “A week, perhaps,” he answered, and resumed his endeavor. Russia backed up, the movement sending sparks of pain through his stiffened muscles, but he didn’t let that stop him from retreating all the way to where the bed met the wall.

“Wait, China…” he whined. “I’m better now, see?” Russia stammered pathetically and made an attempt to rise from bed.

China scoffed and slumped his shoulders. “You do this every time. You are not fine until I tell you that you are fine." Russia thought back, not remembering any such occasion in recent memory; he then reminded himself that China's 'recent memory' was not the same as most other nation's.

"I must have been very little then," Russia replied wistfully. China merely snorted and climbed atop Russia's lap to inch the bowl closer to his lips.

"Then, now, what's the difference? You aren't. That's for sure," he said before forcefully grabbing Russia by the chin and plugging his nose in one deft motion. With a hint of a smirk, he quickly tilted the contents of the bowl down his patient's throat.

Russia coughed and nearly choked, but he did swallow. This time, before he could register the taste, his lips were assaulted once more by something hot and sweet, drowning out the aftertaste of the medicine.

Tea. Russia sighed with relief. "There. See, now that was not so bad. You are always such a baby," China chastised, setting the bowl to the bedside table where it joined a steaming teapot. "Now, do you feel any stronger?"

Before Russia could answer, China interrupted. "Because if you do, then you should go take a bath. You make the room smell like alcohol." China crossed his arms, staring at him expectantly. Too weak to argue, Russia pushed the blankets aside and began to climb out of bed.

Russia smiled at China fondly. It was almost like things were the way they used to be. He would always complain when Russia was drinking, even while China held the pipe in his hand, sweet clouds filling the rooms. When Russia inhaled deeply, he could swear the aroma still lingered.

"Will you come with me?"

With some exasperation, China accepted. "I was going to make you something to eat, but if I must."

Any lingering chill from Russia's body was washed away as he lowered himself into the bath. The water was heated to that perfect point where any more would have burned, but those were really the best kind of baths. Anything to keep the cold away. The tub itself was almost too small to accommodate the both of them, keeping China tucked into a corner while Russia's feet dangled off the other side. There once was a time when China would have been content to lay across Russia as they bathed. 

"Why were you wandering out so far east?" China asked absently, running his hands through his long wet hair.

Russia looked up from the water suddenly. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he averted his gaze. China seemed to understand, giving one curt nod.

"I see."

A heavy silence filled the space between them as neither dared to speak. Russia tilted his head back into the water, as if that would perhaps wash away the terrible thoughts about what happened that night from his memory. When he came up for air, China had finished lathering his hair and offered Russia a handful of soapy liquid.

"Turn around," he instructed gently. "Run this through your hair. I will help with your back." The tension eased as China smiled. That smile reminded Russia greatly of the seemingly endless days he had spent here before, when the world was much different.

That smile had been with him ever since he was a child. As as far back as he could remember, China had always existed. A tall and intimidating figure in strange clothes, rising from the back of a great beast -- he was rarely seen without a weapon in hand. But when he took Russia's freezing hands into his own and flashed that smile, China swept him up onto his horse and Russia never felt stronger.

China's smile that carried him through when the other nations of Europe seemed far away. When his sisters abandoned him and the Mongol hoard swept across the East, it was China who hoisted him up on his shoulders and taught him how to keep face, dignity, and honour as their homes were invaded, their people ravaged.

This was one memory that time could never wither. Though it hurt and made him want to scream, Russia knew then that the struggle would pass, and eventually time would dull the pain. Everything was temporary. Everyone was finite and would eventually fade away. Everyone except China.

China's hands made their way across his back, washing his skin with the same care as he had back then. The nostalgia grew as China began humming a familiar melody, an ancient song to which had probably long forgotten the lyrics. Russia remembered it, and it was easy enough to believe then that nothing had changed, nothing at all. He was still a child, naive and new to the world, and unsure of his place within it.

Swept up in his thoughts, Russia didn't notice when the humming stopped and the hands left his back. It was only when China cleared his throat and shoved a towel in front of his face that he realized that the water had cooled and it was time to dry off.

"Always so distant," China huffed, toweling off his hair. "Staring into space, off in your own little world..."

"Just like when I was little, right?" Russia finished, already anticipating what China was about to say.

China turned around and narrowed his eyes.

"Very much so."

After the bath, China insisted on providing Russia with a change of clothes. Russia followed his host down many long hallways, passing bedroom after empty bedroom -- rooms that had once housed many a young nation. There was no doubt in Russia's mind that China kept every one of them in pristine condition, perhaps awaiting the day when someday his children would return to him, seeking refuge.

They came to a familiar room down at the end of the hall that Russia recognized as his own. Vacated but in otherwise impeccable condition, there was even a fresh vase of sunflowers sitting on the dresser.

"How would you like to sleep here from now on?" China asked as he rooted through the closet. "I mean, while you're staying, that is."

Russia smiled shyly and his gaze fell to the floor. "That would be kind of you."

He emerged holding a mass of cloth that Russia saw was the old shenyi that China had hand-stiched for him back when Russia was still developing. He was astounded that China had kept it. He wondered what other things of his China had preserved through time.

It was an inch or two too short, and pinch tight around the middle, but otherwise it still fit quite well. China examined it, stroking the fabric between his fingers. "Hmm. I should take out this seam a few inches," he noted to himself.

Then he tugged at Russia's long sleeve. "You did not let me prepare dinner tonight, so we will be having leftovers. I trust that is fine with you?"

"It will not be a problem."

China always made too much food. He consistently cooked enough to feed five people, despite living alone. Every single meeting, without fail, he would be trying to pass off leftovers on anybody who would take them.

On the table lay a meal of char siu beef, suanlatang soup, and baozi buns. As usual, there was far more than Russia could hope to eat in one sitting, starving though he was. China motioned for Russia to take a seat as he placed a practically overflowing plate before him.

For the most part, China spent more time cleaning his perpetually cluttered kitchen and keeping Russia's plate full than actually eating. He took a bite here and there, but he mostly concerned himself with making Russia comfortable.

Russia ate plentifully. China's food was a treat he hadn't had the good fortune to taste for a long time, especially when he went all out. He was able to finish two entire plates, and would have been quite satisfied with that if only China hadn't insisted on piling more on.

To be polite, Russia tried to finish it, but found soon enough that he was just too full to continue. He pushed the plate away with a sheepish expression. "China, I...,"

"Oh, don't be like that. You haven't eaten in a week. At least have one more bite," China urged, taking a seat beside him.

Russia shook his head. "Truly, I could not possibly..." he protested before China picked up the chopsticks himself and presented another piece of beef before his mouth.

"Please? For my peace of mind." Russia couldn't help but take it, as China just seemed so concerned.

One more bite turned into two, and then three. Russia couldn't refuse when China was feeding him like this, as one might coax a picky child. "Come on, last one now. You need to eat. You haven't eaten anything in a week. Look at how skinny you are!" he gasped in dismay, chopping up a steamed bun into bite-sized pieces and faithfully delivering them to Russia's lips. Never mind that Russia knew he was hardly lean anymore, perhaps China still saw him as that scrawny youth he'd raised.

It was pointless arguing with him at this point. Russia had come to know that years ago, so he ate until China finally tired of hand-feeding him.

Afterwards, Russia found himself so painfully full that he could barely find the energy to stand. His eyelids drooped and he realized that sleep was beginning to come over him once again. China sipped calmly at his tea and gave Russia's sore tummy an affectionate rub through his silk robe.

"Mn, you must be tired now," he commented after Russia yawned. "It is becoming quite late."

China guided Russia back to the bedroom where he'd received his clothes, chattering on at him the entire way about how much Russia needed rest in order to get well again. Rest, good food, and awful medicine.

As Russia slipped under the covers, China sat watchfully at the side of the bed, letting his fingers slip through Russia's blonde hair. "Do you need anything?" he asked softly, the fondness he had once felt for Russia finally breaking through his shell.

"Tell me a story."

That made China smile again. Russia loved hearing China's stories almost as much as China loved telling them. The adventures of majestic heroes, grandiose myths of gods, spirits, and all manner of ancient creatures, to tragic tales of love and loss, China had a story for any occasion.

Even better was the way he told them; that was what Russia liked. They would begin coherently enough, with a linear plot that China would often accompany with interesting side notes and incidental tidbits he'd picked up about the origins of songs and the lives of the characters. After a while, he'd begin to trail off, starting tangents he'd never finish. The names of the characters would change, events becoming unrealistically exaggerated, and sometimes the descriptions of people and places would grow so vivid that Russia could swear he could see visions dance before his eyes. If he went on long enough, the stories would mix together, narratives intertwining. He would slip up and say 'I' instead of 'he'. Sometimes China would begin to cry.

Russia had never heard the ending to any of China's stories; they went on until he fell asleep. He didn't mind, though, because Russia liked falling asleep to the sound of China's voice and escaping into dreams of dynasties and dragons.

Russia snuggled against the pillow and closed his eyes. He felt China's hair drift over his face and his lips softly touch against his cheek.

"Once upon a time..."


End file.
